


No Going Backwards

by emynii, ObliObla



Series: Nia & Obli's Whumptober 2019 [14]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Heavy Angst, Post-Season/Series 04, whumptober2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-16 06:27:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21031733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emynii/pseuds/emynii, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObliObla/pseuds/ObliObla
Summary: Lucifer has finally gotten Hell settled and has only one person on his mind: Chloe.For the Whumptober prompt: tear-stained





	No Going Backwards

Lucifer’s wings disappeared with a snap. He took a deep breath, scenting city air, and let his eyes fall open to find his penthouse, just how he left it. 

He was finally, _ finally _home. 

There was a thin layer of dust over every surface not covered with a cloth, and he wrinkled his nose, but it was still a far more welcome sight than Hell’s endless ash storms. He hummed, skipping up the stairs to the bedroom, and headed into the closet to change out of his stinking leathers.

After many years of deeply frustrating political maneuvering, he’d finally managed to figure out a permanent solution to the regnancy of Hell. He was free, _ truly, _ for the first time in his life.

And he knew just what to do with his newfound freedom.

After a thorough shower, a lengthy shave, the application of his blessed products—_oh, _ how he’d missed them—and a fresh, clean suit, he inspected himself in the mirror. He straightened his cufflinks, adjusted his pocket square, and grinned. There was only one thing missing.

* * *

The detective’s—_Chloe’s_—apartment building looked just the same, of course, and he found himself whistling idly as he climbed the stairs to the second floor. There would be proper dates, now, no world-ending disasters to get in the way. They had plenty of time, after all—the rest of her life.

And he vowed that he wouldn’t waste a single moment.

He stood at the threshold, shuffling his feet like a lovesick teenager, mind bursting with all the fantasies that had sustained him during his time down in the dark. He wondered what her reaction would be. Delighted surprise, no doubt. Maybe a dramatic leap into his arms, with passionate kissing.

Perhaps he should have brought flowers.

But she would forgive his unpreparedness, he was certain, for his desperation to see her had overridden _ everything _besides his unwillingness to inflict even the remnants of Hell’s miseries upon her. The memories tormented him still, but the agony in his soul would soon be quenched by her far purer light.

He could never have let himself forget the beauty of her smile.

Nervousness beset him, for a moment, but he pushed it down. It was so much harder for his anxieties to overwhelm him when the steady flame of hope bloomed in his heart. As he’d walked out of Hell, not looking back, hope and faith and _ love _had remained within him, and he’d known she would be here, waiting for him.

And all he had to do was knock on her door.

But before he could, someone yanked it open for him. A small someone, hair in twin braids that framed her face, teeth wrapped in dayglo orange braces, barreled over the threshold, yelling over her shoulder, “...stay on the block. I _ know, _ Dad. That’s— Hey, who are you?”

Lucifer blinked down at the child. “Who are _ you?” _

“Audrey,” she said, with the brashness of the young. “Why are you—?”

“Who you talking to, kiddo?” a man asked, coming up behind her.

“Lucifer,” he said, tilting his head. “Morningstar.”

The man gave him the look that humans normally did, hearing his name. “Can I help you?”

Lucifer blinked. He hadn’t checked. He should have checked. “I… Does Chloe Decker live here?” Perhaps it had been longer on Earth than he’d thought; a year or so, maybe, instead of the months he’d assumed.

The man’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, of course. She’s my wife. But who—?“

Something was breaking, fracturing under his skin. Beyond the girl, the man, he could see furnishings he recognized, but something was _ wrong. _ Things had changed too much. It wasn’t...

“Seriously, who are—?”

His hearing fuzzed out, his vision whited, and he turned away, blindly, stumbling down the stairs. After an interminably long moment, where whispers and shouts battled in his mind, he found himself walking down a street he didn’t know, a mantra pounding in his heart, beating against the pavement. _ How long? How long? How long? _

He found himself at the precinct, which teemed with humans he didn’t know. No Daniel, no Ella, no…

He shook his head and flagged down a passing uni. “Pardon me, but where is the detective?”

When the woman shook her head, he clarified, “Decker? Chloe Decker?”

“Oh, the lieutenant,” she said, nodding toward the office door. “Uh, I think she’s at a scene?”

“Do you know where?” He wondered how his voice was so steady; everything inside was still crumbling, though he continued to cling to what was left of his hope.

She frowned. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

He made himself smile, meeting the woman’s gaze. “What’s your name, darling?”

The smile felt wrong. The word felt wrong. _ Everything _felt wrong.

Her suspicious look slid off her face. “Melody,” she said, voice suddenly breathy.

Where’s your lieutenant, Melody?” He pitched his voice lower. “You can tell me.”

And she grinned vacantly.

* * *

Lucifer landed several yards down the sand, tucking his wings away. What sort of cruel twist of fate had led him to this moment, to _ this _ beach?

Again.

The sun was disappearing beneath the waves, and Chloe was watching it, far enough away from the flashing lights and police tape there was a strange stillness. Her hair was more silver than gold, tied back in a severe bun that highlighted the edge of her jaw, the slight crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes.

She had never looked more beautiful; she had never been more distant.

He should have left. No good could come of this, but he couldn’t stop himself. She didn’t hear him approach—he knew he couldn’t bear to have her watch him, picking his way across this beach where he'd first landed, where his wings had been severed, where she'd first kissed him.

She was on the phone, chastising a subordinate. “What do you mean you felt like you were in a tra—?”

He stepped into her line of sight, and she froze, fingers trembling against the case. “I-I’ll have to call…” She hung up, tucking the phone back into her pocket, mouth hanging open before she swallowed roughly.

“Lucifer…” she breathed.

He had imagined this moment for untold centuries, so far down in the dark the only light he’d had was the incandescence of her hair, the only oceans the blue in her eyes. But now his tongue was cold and dull, and ash and gall were in his mouth.

That flame of hope, still gently flickering, died.

“How are you here?” she whispered.

She shone in the dying rays of the sun, and he wanted nothing more than to supplicate at her altar, but he knew he was no worshiper. He didn’t know how to have faith. Not anymore. “I...I found a solution, but—”

“It took too long.” And the words were vicious as dull and rusted knives, crueler still for their lack of wanton purpose.

His lip twitched. “How-how many…?”

“Thirteen, last May.” Her eyes darted between him and the scene down the beach, wide as a trapped animal, and he wished, desperately, that he could ease her pain. But how could he heal the wounds he himself had caused?

He sighed. “I-I went to your… I saw—”

“Audrey,” she said, then, glancing down at the sensible, brown shoes that had so often haunted his dreams, “Seth.”

He nodded. “And Beatrice…?”

"Working on her Master's."

There were other names he wished to ask about, but he couldn’t force them past his lips.

She cleared her throat, answering the pleas in his eyes. “Maze and Eve… they send postcards, sometimes. Dan moved back to Texas to take care of his mom. Ella’s in Chicago, heading up a forensics team, and Linda, she…”

He hadn’t expected this ache, and it was sharper for it. He hissed in a breath. “When?” he asked, as if he could do anything, as if it mattered.

“Last year.” She looked like she wanted to comfort him but didn’t know how. “Amenadiel and Charlie—” She bit her lip, glancing at the sky, at the stars trying to peek through the light pollution.

He sniffed, smelling the city, the ocean, _ her—_all those things he’d missed so terribly only brought further agony, now.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

It wasn’t a lie. He wished it was. It would’ve been easier.

“I’m sorry, Lucifer,” she repeated.

“It’s not your fault,” he said softly. He couldn’t make his voice louder, or stronger. Nor could he make himself meet her gaze. “None of this is your fault.”

When she spoke again, he could tell she’d started crying. “I-I wish I could…”

“You can’t.” He hadn’t meant to sound so cutting, so _ final, _ but this moment had washed away all the gentleness Hell hadn’t already managed to destroy.

She didn’t seem to know what to say, and neither did he. He licked his lips, and they stood in silence for a time. The tide slowly went out. The police lights died. The sun finally set. When the breeze came, she shivered, and his fingers twitched, wishing to aid her, to _comfort_ her. But this thing was not for him to do. Not now. Perhaps never again.

“Seth, he…” Her breath hitched. “He’s a good man.”

“I’m sure he is.” How could he keep the bitterness from his voice when he could taste nothing, now, but gall? “Not secretly the first murderer, then? Or the Devil himself?”

“He’s human,” she said flatly.

He chuckled harshly. “Ordinary, then? _ Normal?” _ He should have stopped, should have dropped it. But he couldn’t help searching desperately for an excuse, a reason. But there was only one reason, and he knew it wasn’t good enough.

“Stop,” she said roughly.

Her scorn burned through him, warming him but leaving him hollow. There was a question on his tongue he knew he shouldn’t ask, but he’d never been any good at avoiding temptation.

“Do you love him?”

“Lucifer...”

“Chloe.” He shook his head and forced eye contact, heart clenching at the pain on her face, but he couldn’t stop himself from repeating, “Do you _ love _him?”

“I...” She sniffed, and a tear slipped down her cheek even as she scowled. _ “Yes.” _

He felt his hands tighten into fists, but he made his fingers flatten against his thigh, calmed his breathing as much as he could. “Good, that’s... good.”

“Is it?” she asked sharply, fiddling with the ring around her finger. He wanted to believe it was unbearably ugly, inherently not _ her, _ but it was perfect.

He cleared his throat. “He’s human. That-that’s what you deserve to—“

“I thought we were past that.” It wasn’t a question, not really.

Caught in the heat of her anger, he lost the rein on his own. Defensiveness rose to his tongue."_ We _ aren’t anything, _ Lieutenant.” _

She took a step back as if the moniker stung. He hoped it had. It would make this easier. Another tear dripped down her face, and she wiped it away roughly. But she didn’t have the energy to maintain her fury, and he found himself instead suffocated by her grief for things that could never be.

“You know, I-I think about you sometimes when—” She cut herself off, shame rising in her cheeks, and he thought of Eve, of that quiet, lethal word: _ unfaithful_.

“I’m not worth it.” He’d believed he understood what that meant when he’d first said it. But now he knew, fully, that it was true. Not because he had nothing to offer—that had only been a somewhat pleasant fiction—but that what he _ did _have was as darkened by sorrow as it was brightened by joy.

“I know,” she said, and he wished those words would rip out his heart, not leave it softly aching in his breast.

“You’ll be happy.” His voice was hoarse, and he wondered if he was crying, now, too. His face was numb, and it had been too long; he no longer remembered how it felt.

“I hope so,” she said quietly, and the bare honestly of it made his hands shake.

“Will you...?” She swallowed roughly and bit her lip. “Will _ you _be okay?”

“Of course,” he said automatically. “I’ll be fine.” The sentiment lay on his tongue like ash, but he’d damn himself to Hell anew before he made herself taste _ that _ acridity.

“This isn’t your fault, either.”

“Isn’t it, though?” He hissed in a breath. “If I hadn’t—“

“_Stop_.” Her hands were balled into fists, the slight wrinkles on them stark and bloodless. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

“My apologies,” he mumbled. This was what he’d been trying to avoid.

“I—“ She hissed in a breath. “I think it’d be better if you didn’t come back.”

He could see the future spread out before him, then—one of inconvenient, unspoken feelings, one of quiet glances and quieter touches, one of pain and betrayal. And he had already caused her so much pain.

He cleared his throat again. “Yes, I think it rather would.”

She nodded to herself. “G-goodbye, Lucifer.”

“Goodbye, Chloe.”

He turned away from her, then, from the tears still staining her cheeks. He manifested his wings, and heard a gasp—heard within it all the wonder and the terror they’d had together. There was nothing for him in Heaven, nothing in Hell. And now even the Earth was empty, for a time. Perhaps he could find somewhere else, or maybe this truly was his lot. He flew up and away from the dying ember of hope he’d once held cupped in his hand.

He didn’t look back.


End file.
